


Exuviae

by Saniika



Series: Poultice [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Characters will be added as I go - Freeform, Drinking, F/F, F/M, Fictional Disease, Friends to Lovers, Hanahaki AU, Happy Ending, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Purple Prose, Rating May Change, Unrequired Love, victuuri is mentioned, vomiting flowers and blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 20:26:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11321073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saniika/pseuds/Saniika
Summary: Hanahaki AU: Victor and Yuuri marry in the middle of the season and invite their friends to the wedding. Various conversations happen. Georgi overhears what Mila thinks of him. Sarah presses on Mila. Someone learns about Georgi's illness.I advise to read the previous parts of the AU, but it's not necessary.





	Exuviae

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: In this chapter I will mention symptoms of the illness I based on lung cancer. Please be wary if you are sensitive about the subject and don’t read ahead. I’m not going to be overly descriptive, but clear about the progression of Georgi’s Hanahaki.
> 
> This was beta-ed by fantastic [Olosta](http://archiveofourown.org/users/olosta). Thank you so much! Please check out their work.

The wedding is beautiful, the day passes by so quickly no one notices. The happiness infects all those present and everyone truthfully enjoys themselves. You’d think there would be stress, but the guests all have a genuine smile, the kind which reaches one’s eyes. Of course there are some minor complications, but Victor doesn’t flip out. Yuuri is relaxed and Makkachin walking around with a camera attached to his back is a wonderful icebreaker for people who aren’t familiar with other guests. It was a spur of the moment decision and the idea comes from Yurio. He had mentioned several times he’d seen videos made my pets carrying a cam on YouTube.

It is like visiting good friends for a small simple party and there is no tension present in any moment. A lot of laughter, all kinds of smiles, which Georgi gladly joins in. He is very glad he was able to attend the event. Last month was very taxing and he had spent a week at home under the pretense of having a flu. He tries to chase away the thoughts of a feverish dream he had. It still rubs him the wrong way when the images of naked Mila flash through his mind. These defeat his denial and he suffers more than from the physical pain, and he has to admit to himself in torment he yearns for the young woman in a bodily way. The urge whispering shallow intrusive thoughts in his ears, sending tingling shivers in his nerves, letting his skin get goosebumps and his core flush hot like lava. But now it’s not a right place or time to be occupied by that, so he shakes his head as if the purge would be strengthened by the physical motion.

The color of the wedding is violet, there are subtle details carrying it and a large portion of flowers includes lavender and the hydrangea which Yurio and Victor argued about before. His eyes concentrate on lavender sneakers that the newly wedded pair wears in partner look. Yuuri accepted all too gladly Victor’s suggestion to change from the dress-shoes to comfortable ones after the official ceremony.

There is a place for everything and everything in its place.

Georgi hopes that he belongs to this place and that it is alright. He wishes he could cling to this feeling longer. As things are now, any minute is precious and he is glad he has the chance to spend the time with the people close to his heart, and Mila. Since their last collision the dynamic between them changed, yet no one addressed the issue. Both fell all too easily into training and concentrated on the stress related to it. The season is in full bloom. The wedding is a much welcomed getaway for everyone involved.

The tight schedule is broken for a prolonged weekend; for this moment they all cease to be skaters, they are just simple people celebrating a cozy wedding. Once the season is over Victor and Yuuri depart for their honeymoon. It won’t take long, the Grand Prix is nearby.

Georgi has a good day, he is wheezing only a little and for a change he feels more energized. It does help that he didn’t do any physical exercise today apart from light stretching. Yakov was kind enough to give him a lift, because the young man can’t drive a car anymore. The cough might intervene with driving, so he doesn’t risk endangering the public. Simple as that. Georgi adjusts to the changes coming along the illness without resistance and accepts them in quietness.

His goal is to make it to the Grand Prix and deliver the best performance he can. The program is finished, no one but Yakov had seen the final version. His coach speaks even less than usual, but the strength in his eyes gives Georgi all the feedback he needs and he can fall upon it without hesitation. He comes to terms with the fact that he won’t live until the Final. Attending is enough, it’s not about winning.

It’s early in the evening and they all had their first refreshments and guests are retreating to bathrooms or dressing rooms in the hotel, so they can fix themselves up. Georgi follows suit and decides to visit a restroom only to find upon reaching it that it’s occupied and he has to wait. He could go and try to seek out a different one, but the thought of walking more stairs and invest more effort in the search discourages him, and so he decides to stand in front of the beige door with a golden pictograph and observe the plush carpet under his dress-shoes. The light here is muted, casting gentle orange glow on his surroundings and his eyes feel thankful for that. He doesn’t sleep well during the night and in the morning when he wakes up he feels like he has sand in his eyes and fights with the burning sensation the whole day.

A man walks by to wait in the line, but a phone rings in his pocket and once he fishes it out he departs in the midst of the call, so once again Georgi is left to his devices and is about to return to admire the drapes or the pattern of the carpet in solitude. But nothing like that happens, because he hears voices from the nearby terrace. He thought it was deserted; the short break is supposed to be followed by small games, which require everyone to join in. It’s not a conscious effort to snoop, more like an ordinary interest of Georgi’s to listen to the conversation.

“I can enjoy a nice piece of ass. Have you seen it? It’s more pronounced than Victor's.” It’s Mila’s sonorous voice carrying itself in the evening air. It has a joyful sound to it, as usual. Somehow it sounds a little like she’s boasting. Georgi makes a small internal note and smirks at her proclamation. He wonders who the lucky man is who caught her interest. Granted, even if superficial.

“You think so?” Sarah asks her in amusement.

“Yes, but I don’t ogle asses that are taken, so I don’t really have a basis for comparison anymore. I think Yuuri would not like it if I’d spy on Victor’s assets and I rather die than admitting that to anyone else than you. I am old fashioned like that, I guess?”

Georgi raises his eyebrows at this new information and finds it very charming and pleasing to know they share similar views on the same matter. Georgi loves people with standards and boundaries. It tells a lot about a person if they have them and how they work with them. Some don’t have any at all and Georgi is very glad Mila is not one of them.

“Yeah? What about that calendar you bought, wasn’t there Victor posing in a bathing suit?” Sarah is questioning her with a clear intent of teasing and Georgi is eager to know the answer.

“Hey! That was for charity! I support charity, ok? I’d do anything for charity. And it’s an official merchandise. Plus his ass is in it too!”

Georgi really wants to know who the owner of the ass is and he catches himself standing closer to the glass door leading to the terrace. He stops immediately before his presence is discovered.

“Haha, ok, ok! But. If you had to choose. Whose would you tap?” Sarah’s voice is mocking, but any passerby could tell it’s still in friendly zone.

“Hmm, can’t I have both? Really? Sarah, you are so hard on me lately!”

“Ah, ah - no! One. Choose one. Who is your favorite?” Sarah insists on leaving no wiggle room and demands an answer.

Georgi puts his hands in the pockets of his pants and sways a little on his heels in anticipation. He feels his lips stretching in an amused smile. The conversation is contagious and he feels giddy because he is able to share the jovial moment without any hesitation or worry. Almost like few months ago, before it all started. Georgi is breaking his standards now and discards the guilt momentarily, the drive to get some pleasure is far too great.

Mila smacks her lips and the sound it creates echoes loudly in the small hallway.

"Georgi. Yeah, definitely Georgi's ass."

What? He must have heard it wrong. Because it would mean that…

"I think I'm getting jealous."

"Oh? You don’t say. Why is that?" An amused scoff erupts from the Russian woman like an angry but harmless puffer-fish. Blood is rushing through Georgi’s ears and the information is so hard to process it’s still fighting his senses. Her voice is so relaxed and carefree she couldn’t possibly say something so serious in a trivial manner. She can’t mean it. Or can she..?

"It sounds like you like him. That, or I need to work on my ass to gain your attention again." A playful tinge creeps in Sarah’s voice and her disappointment, even if faked, is a bit genuine.

Georgi knows the relationship between the two women developed to a specific stage. They are close friends; sometimes it looks like they are more than friends but not quite lovers. It’s a very thin line with hazy borders and somehow also a clear mirror on Mila's personality. Sarah means a lot to her yet they don’t form a pair. On the other hand, they don’t get sick with Hanahaki. There is no unrequited love between them.

Mila is capable of forming a wide variety of romantic relationships. She is wrapped in all kinds of love. Just not the one Victor and Yuuri share among each other. Never that.

Mila said: "Naughty girl! I like the way you are thinking! There are never enough great asses around to ogle. And your effort would double your chances to do higher jumps in the competition. I need to be more careful with you as my rival!"

"I won't argue with that!"

A man walks out of the restroom, so Georgi can finally go inside. He is still perplexed with Mila’s confession lingering in his ears, he forgets what he wanted to do in the room in the first place. He stands there a little forlorn and not moving. Somehow his body knows he needs to find some ground first and doesn’t attempt to move around, otherwise he would stumble.

She doesn’t lie or say things like these lightly. He is not doubting that, but… he didn’t expect that he would be attractive to her? He works hard, trains his body with great effort and likes to show it off. He wears tank tops to the training, thinking his shoulders will appear more masculine and add to his presence. But he didn’t think she’d appreciate his…well, yes. Ass. It is more sculpted than Victor’s, he has to agree with her. Objectively, that is of course. He likes his body, but is not conceited.

He stares into the mirror, still unable to process the situation he found himself in. He doesn’t know if he is happy about it or not. Of course a man would be happy and flattered when the object of his adoration found him attractive. Who wouldn’t? But Georgi pines after her very deeply and it’s not a simple attraction. This is serious and for her it’s not. He swallows hard when his thoughts travel in a dangerous direction. It could get serious for her, couldn’t it? Maybe, maybe there is still time left?

No. As tempting as it sounds, it’s too risky. He just wants to skate the Primavera and leave his love engraved in that program and give the world some kind of legacy. That alone sounds like too much and more than he can ask for. His award is that he found a profound love and doesn’t want anything in return.

To hope for something more serious… Georgi won’t settle for anything less than for a wedding worthy relationship. Mila doesn’t want a serious relationship, period. Their objectives bypass each other by miles. Even if he was selfish and overconfident, the few months he has left with the illness are not enough for anything worthwhile. They have known each other for years, but it still took Georgi long to figure it out. Why should a few months be enough for her to fall in love and reciprocate his feelings?

What good would it be if his yearning for physicality would be addressed? What would he accomplish trying to woo her and raise his hope for something more? The fleeting even if chance encounter between them – and Georgi knows it would be very passionate – would come for a high price. What if she wouldn’t answer to his advances? It would make things all the more awkward between them and ruin the already fragile balance they weight between each other.

In the end he decides a simple moment enjoying this compliment is not indulgent but fine. He will allow himself to accept it and cherish it quietly, without acting upon it. He washes his face with a splash of cold water, feeling the difference in temperature harsher because his cheeks are flushed. He feels like pink roses bloom on them and anyone can see how happy he is today. Straightening his jacket and brushing the nonexistent lint off his shoulders he readies himself with one last glance to the mirror. Everything in check, he feels fine and dandy and he walks out with a confident mindset with the intent to join the next event of the wedding.

The women hooked in each other’s elbow almost run him over and he manages to divert his step sideways, bumping with his back into the wall decorated with a fancy wallpaper. Sarah and Mila startle a little but are quick to laugh. Just like him, they are on their way to the banquet hall. They all laugh and Sarah is inquiring about some detail; he answers her politely on autopilot, but his eyes skim over Mila’s face as if to check her earlier statement is true and that she actually said it. It’s a silly reflex and he tries to hide it, but he can’t help but continue the searching look and is lost for a moment in her blue eyes. Once again she takes him in with focus and doesn’t join the jovial conversation Sarah initiated. She clings to her friend’s arm and watches Georgi. He is not sure but there might be a slight blush on her cheeks. Perhaps the warm weather outside on the terrace was too hot. Georgi is glad they have air conditioning in the Hotel.

 

Sarah is asking something again, but he sees Mila move her lips and is transfixed on them. “Georgi.”

He answers in a daze. “Mila.” He doesn’t know how the conversation resolves towards the end, but he vaguely remembers he walked a few meters with the women until Yurio called him in a rush – the men are needed to gather for a short photo shooting. He excuses himself and departs, his heart but a small bird flattering its wings in his ribcage, and a sweet taste on his palate.

***

Sarah observing the whole exchange between them notices she is obviously ignored by Georgi, who gave all this attention to Mila. She can still feel her clutching her arm, her fingers digging into her bicep. Sarah loves Mila and wants to be kind, so she gently uncurls Mila’s fingers and takes her hand into hers, offering warm comfort.

“Let’s go sit down, ok?” Sarah receives a short affirmative nod and leads them to the bar in the corner of the hall. On the other side on the dance-floor the men pose for the photographer, the happy couple in the middle, unable to depart from each other’s touch.

The two women settle on the bar stools and Sarah orders a cocktail for each of them, taking initiative as she knows Mila’s taste and as the other is clearly preoccupied with her own thoughts.

Once the drinks are served and Mila doesn’t spare them a glance despite their vivid colors and a small bejeweled paper umbrella, Sarah rest her hand on Mila’s knee in a gentle but insistent gesture.

“Tell me about Georgi.” There is no point in dancing around the subject, they are very upfront with each other and that’s why Sarah decides to cut the race short.

“There isn’t much to tell. It’s silly, really. We’re friends. We were, I think. But he’s different somehow. I… he is withdrawn and is avoiding me? Maybe I am thinking too much about this. It’s odd. It’s surely nothing, we are all so busy, Yakov is on our throat more than ever this season. I don’t blame him, because both of his oldest skaters are retiring. It’s just…”

Mila starts slowly, her fingers play with the stem of the glass and her brows furrow. She wipes off the condensed beads from the rim and hesitates.

“Yes?” Sarah squeezes her knee giving her courage and Mila looks at her hand, instead of Sarah’s face.

“I feel lonely. Victor and Georgi are retiring in a month. Yuri is growing up, I know he’s still a kid, but yet he’s not. I… see Georgi being so withdrawn and he seems to slip away even further. He leaves my company whenever we are alone in a room. He spends very little time at the rink as well.”

Her leg bumps nervously with repetitive drumming against Sarah’s stool. She exhales deeply and finally tastes the drink. The rhinestones on the umbrella reflect little specks of light on her cheek as she twirls it in her fingers. Sarah is reminded of a nostalgic graduation ceremony and a cheap disco ball, forgotten summers and parties at her grandmother’s mansion back in Italy. A bittersweet tang on her tongue as she remembers the last dance at the end of a summer with a teenage crush. She slides her palm gently up Mila’s thigh but her voice is softer as she speaks.

“You like Georgi.”

Mila doesn’t answer at first but lets Sarah thread their fingers in Mila’s lap. She is offering strength and Mila is gathering her courage.

“Of course I like him. I like everyone. But he… Look at Victor and Yuuri. They make it look so easy, don’t they? Like it’s not scary at all. To fall in love, the true kind. What if you stop being in love? I mean, falling in love can literally kill you if it’s not reciprocated. And if you choose not to die, you literally kill off your feelings, with the surgery ripping them out of you like weed. Then there is nothing between the two of you. The feelings, that love, fucking literal disposable weed. How is that fair or attractive to anyone and, oh my god! How do people even manage? Aren’t they scared? Was Victor not scared? I’d piss myself if I’d fall in love like that.”

The flush of words comes out of her like waterfall from a broken dam. Her hands flutter in the air in wild gestures and her face is flustered with effort.

“Mila. That’s the thing. They are. But the love, it’s stronger than the fear. It’s worth it for them.” Sarah interrupts her patiently but is more firm, which doesn’t escape Mila’s attention.

“But it’s so foolish! Look at Georgi. He’s finished with his career and still chases after one relationship after another. With Victor and Yuuri, I don’t even know how to call that, they are soulmates. That’s so rare, I don’t even think I heard of someone having that kind of bond in my or my grandparent’s lifetime.” Mila insists and throws her hands in the air in surrender. Half of her cocktail is gone and she orders another one, not minding Sarah’s raised eyebrow. 

“I think this is something you will not understand unless you fall in love yourself. It’s not a simple, easy or exciting adventure. It’s scary, frightening even. I think that… if someone has such courage to pursue his feelings it’s worth of admiration. People who fall in love are not fools, it’s not something you can control. Love itself is ridiculous, but are the people under its spell ridiculous? If anything, I am jealous. I wish I could experience something like Victor and Yuuri. Half of it would be enough.”

Sarah frowns and stirs the lollipop in her cocktail glass. Mila orders a third round.

“What bothers you right now? Answer quickly, don’t think about it.”

“Georgi. I worry about him. He’s not himself. He’s avoiding me. I don’t know why.”

“Then ask him. Simple as that.” Sarah offers, taking a sip.

“I’m scared it will change things between us and it won’t be the same as before.” Mila casts her eyes down in embarrassment, she is not a person who is discouraged easily. She is bold, too upfront for her own good sometimes. That’s why Sarah likes her.

“But things are not the same anymore, no? Something changed. Why are you scared?”

Again Sarah reassures her with gentleness, but this time lays her palm on the back of her hand which rests on the bar.

“I’m not scared because I’m afraid to be hurt. I’m scared that he is suffering and I can’t help him. That he doesn’t want me to help him. None of us.”

“But you still want to try.” It’s not a question. But Mila answers anyway.

“Yes. But first. I need more of these Heartbreakers.”

Afterwards they drink more and join the party. The evening progresses and the guests dance, their bodies swaying in a wild whirlwind. Top athletes in their prime are having hard time to hold up to older guest who almost put them in shame. A friendly competition results in a dance race consisting of smaller dance battles. There is team Katsudon and team Vodka. It’s not clear who is winning, but when Phichit is not competing he is dedicated to recording the event on his phone. He swears it’s going to beat the Banquet and be memorable for many years to come.

***  
Georgi joined in the dancing in the beginning, honoring the custom. Every man takes turn with Victor and throws a generous amount of rubles into the nearby hat after a short dance as a payment. He is soon short of breath and finds he is exhausted, reaching his daily limit. He doesn’t have to excuse or explain himself much when he retreats to chairs abandoned at the edge of the banquet hall.

The lights were turned off at the beginning of the dancing and there is only a blue glow above the dance floor. The waiters light candles on the dining tables to evoke the illusion of fireflies encircling the party. It’s almost like a fairy ring, Georgi thinks, and he seeks out a particularly dark corner. Someone had left their jacket hanging on the back of a chair, there is a purse on the table top, the decorative cloth covering it is wrinkled and empty cupcake forms are scattered on it, staining it.

He is tired. But it’s the good kind of tiredness which you experience after a rewarding day. When he woke up in the morning in bed all sweaty after a restless night, he had no idea how he would manage the upcoming challenges. His condition is at its worst and the last consultation with the doctor brought expected news, but Georgi had hard time responding to Yakov once they left the doctor’s office. He’s reaching the last stage of Hanahaki and the symptoms will be hard to deal with.

Fluid will build up around his lungs, his cough is already bloodier and one coughing fit produces a whole bouquet of snapdragons. He can feel his muscles are wasting away and despite a strict diet he keeps losing weight. Yakov is convinced it’s due to the loss of appetite but Georgi follows his instructions to the last bullet point. He is lucky he can keep up the appearances and pace still, it’s all thanks to the fact that he’s an athlete.

As Georgi rests his palm on the table, dry crumbs from cake prickle his skin and he wipes them off, smiling. He watches the mass of people dance and laugh, the view is obstructed only by quick dark silhouettes of the waiters who skim between the table rows, clearing them of the dishes and cutlery.

He adds this moment to his private memory collection. A perfect moment. His body feels light similarly like after a long training session. He could fall asleep on the table, but doesn’t find the strength or drive to leave for his hotel room. He wants to sit there a bit longer and enjoy himself. Georgi doesn’t forget his goal, works hard to achieve it but with the end so close he wants to enjoy himself a little too. That’s why he will sit here for five more minutes, think of how Mila said his butt is better than Victor’s. He will let that sink in, take pride in it and maybe enjoy the view on the beautiful Russian female. His neck is aching and his spine hurts, just like the doctor said, the disease is spreading to his bones causing more pain. He takes a few pills and washes them down with mineral water. He looks for Mila’s shape on the dance-floor but she is nowhere in sight. A little disappointed, he is about to leave and takes a few breaths to gather some strength to stand up.

Cold pours over him like kerosene. He glances up. It’s Mila, mesmerizing, beautiful Mila, dressed in a pastel blue dress baring her shoulders, embroidery swimming around her thighs like lascivious eel. She steps close to him, bracketing his thigh between hers and regards him from above, eyelids heavy, a garden of scarlet roses growing on her cheeks. She is drunk.

And just like that she descends in his lap, straddles him like a mare and her hands in satin gloves are all over his chest, moving, grabbing shirt folds and his bow-tie, and are pulling at it. It comes undone and he with it, capable only of freezing. She is smiling, barely keeping her head up and with the bow-tie out of the way her fingers trace his collarbone and write lines on it. They follow up and raise his chin, tiling his head towards her face.

“Mila.” He chokes out, his ribcage trapped in the shortness of breath.

Her body presses against his, not a single trace of space between them, the thin fabric of their clothes doesn’t leave much to imagination. It is practically a thin bed-sheet anticipating passionate love making that separates them.

He is trembling underneath her, his hands hover helplessly above her limbs, his body but a love-seat.

“Georgi, Georgi.” She’s caressing his jaw and neck, her gentle touch sending shivers behind his ears, each whisper for one strand of hair. And his treacherous body yearns, responds to her call, lured from the shallow slumber like a puma ready to hunt, sink its claws in her soft neck and mate. He shifts uncomfortably, angling his hips in effort to scoot away even only an inch. Yet relentless, she grinds down, presses her hips firmly against his crotch, her breasts threaten to steal the last breath from his lungs. Georgi prays. White noise like waves of seashore murmurs in his ears along with her mumbling voice, wings of bees buzzing and honey dribbling from her lips.

“You said you can’t. What did you mean you can’t? Can’t you be my friend anymore? Hm? Don’t you like me anymore?”

Lord, she is pouting! Sticking out her lower lip shiny with saliva, and he swallows with effort. His skin prickles, oversensitive, feeling every little thing she does and anticipating each she doesn’t, the latter being the most excruciating. He should stop this, fend her off and return a distance between them. He should…what?

“Why don’t you answer? Say something with that full lips of yours... recite me some silly poems like you did for Anya... Georgi, I didn’t see you vomit any flowers. Did you go to surgery? Why are you still so sad?”

His mind is confused, caught off guard for a moment, not knowing what is asked, who is asking. Somehow he knows there is a request, but his perception is cocooned in cobwebs and milky threads, making it hard to see past them clearly.

He tries in earnest.

She swoons, stops for a moment, trying to focus, then her face rests against his temple and she rubs on him like a cat marking her territory.

Oh, god. Is there no mercy for him left in the world?

She is asking, insisting, but he can’t hear her for his hearing is overloaded. Her fingertips brushing lightly on his ears like licks of a hummingbird.

He just wanted to enjoy the thought she finds him attractive.

“Do you miss Anya? You’ve been so funny because of her.” She nuzzles his cheekbone and chuckles, sweet intoxicated woman she is; then her brows furrow in confusion.

“You look so sad. Why are you sad? Come on, why don’t you make me laugh anymore. You’ve changed. Are you going to be quiet? It’s not pretty when you press your lips like that. Let me fix that, hm? Make it better? Kiss me, maybe?”

He’d build her a mansion, a fucking castle, with his bare hands and carry her in them like a princess. But this, her invitation to get lost together in a labyrinth, it only embodies him as a wicked witch. His desire gets the better of him sending lava to his groin, his nervous fingers twitch and want to wrap around her limbs. He wants to sink into her luscious soil and plant there the flowers which grow in his chest.

But not this, not now and not like this. Most likely never to happen. He wishes for the love you can only dream of. He wants her to let him into her spirit, thoughts, show him her fears, hopes and dreams. But what he is she doesn’t need.

Her breath ghosts over his mouth, the kiss about to be born, but all he can feel is the tickle and warmth of a single tear rolling down his cheek.

Georgi loves Mila and is dying for her.

She misses and the kiss lands on the side of his nose instead. His hands catch her as she slips and support her so she doesn’t fall off his lap.

“Mila.”

It’s Yakov’s rough voice announcing the man’s presence. He is standing nearby, his shadow falling on the couple like an exclamation point, the colorful lights resembling a window of a candy store, the two caught with their hands in the jar. But to Georgi, Yakov in this moment is the gentlest death angel delivering him of pain and suffering. Never judging and always kind, the one to whom Georgi can turn to on the threshold between life and death.

Mila twists in his lap, Yakov grabbing her arm is pulling her from Georgi’s lap. She doesn’t resist and follows like a sleepy kitten she is, all the clingy resolve leaving her like a limp octopus.

“Yakov papa! Mh, Georgi doesn’t like me. He looks so sad... you look sad too. It makes me even sadder. Why is everyone so sad? This is a wedding! Vitya is getting married!”

She is complaining, draped all over Yakov’s shoulder, hiding her face in the crook of his neck. She would never behave so privately and familiarly with Yakov, her respect abandoned only on the verbal front. He pats her reassuringly the back of her head and supports her waist, so she doesn’t slide down to the floor. Her legs are weak like a lamb’s and wobble in the stilettos.

“Milochka, let me get you to your room. You need some rest.” Yakov sneaks a glance at Georgi and nods several times as he speaks to her and mouths a mute words to let Georgi know he is taking over. He’s got it, he’ll take care of it. Georgi is incredibly thankful. They leave.

The rigid tension rapidly leaves, but his body is shaking. His mind is shell-shocked, shaking in aftershocks. He is slipping away, dropping and losing consciousness. His eyes catch the faint shine of the black leather. Sleek, elegant dress shoes stand on the parquet floor. In the corner of his sensible mind he notes he misses the leopard patterned sneaker. Somehow people around him change too fast.

Yuri sinks on the nearby chair, shoves the embroidered purse on the table to the side and leans back in an exquisitely relaxed pose. His fancy dark blue suit gathers on his arms and shoulders, wrinkling the polished image and reviving the evaporating memory of a carefree teenager.

“So, what’s up?” He announces appearing unimpressed as ever. When he looks like that, at his highest level of passiveness, he is the most impressed and interested person around. Sometimes Georgi thinks Yuri was lost as a baby in Siberia and grew up among tigers, like Tarzan the feral child. Almost as if his cat Potya learned how to cat from him and not the other way around. The civilized feral child, who is more human than most people, around those he cares about.

Contemplating about this gives Georgi some time to ground himself and breathe in a more relaxed manner. It’s hard to ignore the stems pressing against his breathing ways. The flowers must be sentient, because it’s like they know and feed on the feelings. The stronger they are the more resolved the plant is to reach the light of the day, refusing desperately to stay hidden in the darkness of his insides.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you cry.” How Yuri manages to sound nonchalant when he wants to is almost amusing to Georgi. He would laugh, but the shortness of breath overcomes him suddenly. He chokes out a short strained answer.

“Did you miss it?”

“You know… I actually did. It bothered me as fuck. You know I hate whiny weaklings, crying is pathetic. But I was bothered you weren’t crying anymore for months so suddenly? And now we’re here at a wedding. Still no fucking crying happens and you are the biggest sap I know! And now you cry in this… semi low key style. Yakov fetches Mila. By the way, I didn’t know she could be so gross around you.

“Hm, there’s no better way to put it. You look like... Well, you look like shit. You have been really weird lately, Georgi. So… what’s going on? And don’t give me any shitty explanations. I’m not stupid and you can’t dismiss me with the teenager card anymore either.”

In another place and a different time Georgi would cry in sentiment, cradle Yurio’s head on his wide chest and praise his progress into adulthood. Unfortunately he has no such luxury, Yuri’s personal space stays unbreached. With no strength left after the tiresome day Georgi coughs heartily, feeling like it’s not just flowers leaving his body, but all the pain, build up bile of anxiety and desperation, finally allowed to flow freely. They pour out of his mouth like a vital stream which breaks the melting snow in a roaring spring. Red petals rip from the stems, rubbing against his teeth, fighting among each other on their way out, leaving his nasal ways irritated, and his body flushes out saliva, snot and blood in a nasty tangled mess. Crushed clumps of the plant land on the floor with disgusting wet smacks. He doesn’t feel the hand on his back, doesn’t hear the steady, firm voice, he’s hoping he won’t choke and die on the spot.

The last tremors shake his body, the plants had fed on their portion of freedom, they are resting satisfied, it’s just the ghosts of reflex making him dry heave. Sweat sprinkled a beady crown on his temples. A damp handkerchief with teddy bears is pressed gently against his forehead. Yuri is wiping Georgi’s face and holds one of his hands in iron grip.

“Anya? I swear, why you even care about that bitch!?” Nothing needs to be explained to Yuri. He is bright and understands immediately what the fit means. Georgi thinks he cannot blame Yuri for the shock as he had zero preparation for this outburst. The wedding frayed his nerves considerably anyway, the poor thing.

“No, no. It's not Anya.”

Yuri’s opinion is endearing. A year ago he would not dream of agreeing with him. A tight rictus resembling a gentle smile brings some color in his pale face. He takes the handkerchief in gratitude and finishes wiping off his face on his own.

Yuri slams a palm on his forehead in stunned shock and looks around for a moment in genuine surprise, as if he could find the explanation for the situation in the room or in the faces of the guests. He covers his mouth and speaks from behind his fingers, high pitch present in his voice. He quickly connects the dots in sudden realization.

“Son of a bitch! This is the real thing, huh? But seriously, Mila? Of all people… No, scratch that! Fuck, I thought after Victor we were done with melodrama. Well, we aren’t, are we?”

It’s again the “we”. The same kind Yakov is using and his mother would if she would be around. How is Georgi so lucky? He can’t figure it out for the better of him. Any reply he can give will sound weak, but he tries anyway.

“Seems like it.”

Yuri pats him on the back and pulls back the collar of his shirt and straightens his jacket. Both slid forward when he puked. The concern is in Yuri’s gestures and words as well. He does care more than other people give him credit for. Georgi is very proud of him, even if it means figuring it out on his own expense. He feels sorry for Yuri more than for himself.

“Does Yakov... ah, shit! He knows of course. What’s gonna happen now?” Georgi understand his thought process, he was thinking similarly months back in past, swallowed by the revelation in the small restroom. The mad rush of thoughts looking for solution, trying to evade the damage at all cost. It’s a wild run, which can go on for hours and have no end. But Georgi had made a decision already and that knowledge gives him the small push straightening him back on his feet when he falters on his way.

“I skate. Just like before. And if I am strong enough I will win.” Well, it’s not entirely true. Because Georgi knows he will be lucky if he can pull off skating Primavera in September. His physical state will never let him make it to the Final. Yuri doesn’t need to know that. There is no need for further damage and this is his own choice. Yuri, Mila and no one else has anything to do with it. The only person he allows himself to fall back upon and share his burden is Yakov. His bond is too strong and comforting for Georgi not to rely on him.

Fortunately Yuri is not so perceptive or maybe too shaken from the spectacle he had to witness. It also helps that he leaves for a moment and is at once back with a load of napkins; he cleans away the evidence of Georgi’s illness. No one is rushing to their side, people still occupied on the dance floor and the one waiter doesn’t have any personal business with them, and so for now they are safe.

Yuri slumps into the chair, then jolts asking Georgi quickly.

“Do you want a drink? What shall I get you?” The intense green is piercing and the question in this context sounds like he’s asking him if he wants an elixir of life. Like the solution to everything depends on one simple alcoholic beverage. Then all the weight is gone, seeing the energy in the young man in front of him, Georgi finds it might be an answer after all. They are at a wedding, people they care about are celebrating their newly formed bond. Yuri is a fine young man, Mila is taken care of. Yakov can save up the story of a beautiful lush woman hanging onto him. And Georgi didn’t choke to death yet.

That’s worth a drink. An occasion to celebrate.

“Yes. Black Roska, please.”

**Author's Note:**

> End notes and credit:  
> Exuviae - the empty pupal exoskeleton is called exuviae; the exuvia is so thin and membranous that it becomes "crumpled" as it is shed.  
> Example of the wedding from dog'd perspective is [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gNeUO2Z42pc&t=67s).  
> Milochka - diminutive from from Mila  
> Mila is drinking: [Hpnotiq Heartbeaker](http://www.completecocktails.com/Drinks/HpnotiqHeartbreaker.aspx#.WUunhNJ9670)  
> I took a visual liberty with this cocktail and added a paper umbrella with rhinestones glued on its top as decoration. There is normally only a simple candy ring or something sweet attached to the rim of the glass as garnish.  
> Sarah's drink: [Bachelorette Blush](http://www.completecocktails.com/Drinks/BacheloretteBlush.aspx#.WUul5dJ9670)  
> Georgi's drink: [Black Roska](http://www.completecocktails.com/Drinks/BlackRoska.aspx#.WUupwtJ9670%0A)
> 
> Dance with the Bride - The custom I mention is related to a Slovak one, which we practice at weddings. Each guest can take turn and dance a little bit with the bride. It’s typically a few rounds and the pair has a chance to exchange a few private words or wishes between them. Once the dance is done, the guest pays for the privilege with few coins to the groom, putting the amount into a hat. The amount is up to the guest and it’s considered as a support for the wedding expenses. I chose Victor to play the role of the bride because Russia is close to Slovakia as they are part of one Slavic family. It has nothing to do with pushing of gender roles on Victor as I see him equal with Yuuri.
> 
> The idea of Georgi as the witch and Mila as the prince was partially inspired by a magnificent [board made by otalerovich](https://otalerovich.tumblr.com/post/161809737970/yoi-ships-aesthetics-2-georgila-otalerovich). 
> 
> Fun fact: My beta told me I am writing purple prose. I hate purple prose... I don't know what I am doing.
> 
>  
> 
> To get updates for the story please subscribe to the Poultice series.


End file.
